So bored

It's 3:45. I have suspended data entry in favor of the other half of my BLTA sandwich, which I thought I could save for dinner, but was too hungry to wait. It's from Max's, and came with some fantastic potato salad. Unfortunately, eating it now means I either have to buy dinner before rehearsal, or eat after. I don't seem to sing very well on an empty stomach, so my mid-afternoon snack may require a trip to the burrito place on Fillmore this evening. Or Johnny Rockets. I could use a grilled cheese sandwich. Or maybe I should just give up now and head home. The only problem with that is that it takes so damn long to get anywhere these days, and I'm much closer to St. Dominic's from work than from home. And it's cold out. I think I'll just stay here. It's time for the potato salad.

Why doesn't the spell check recognize burrito? It's a travesty!

I hate data entry!!!

I've been entering things into little excel spreadsheet rows since 9:30 this morning. It's now 2 pm. I can feel my eyes failing, my back is tense, and my knee hurts. Ok, that last part is unrelated, but still, I'm uncomfortable today. It's too bad the doctor can't do anything about the data entry, but at least when I'm in his office tomorrow I won't be here. Hopefully, I just pulled something, and my knee won't need surgery. I'm not quite sure what I'll do if that's the outcome of tomorrow's appointment.

On a lighter, and much more amusing note, our receptionist just threatened (only somewhat jokingly) to slap the comptroller. An old guy in the office muttered that the receptionist should bitch slap her. This whole day was just made much brighter because I was able to witness that little exchange.

Random musings

I must have had some strange dreams this morning, because I awoke somewhat confused and spent a good part of the morning pondering the state of my life in the past year. I'm not sure what I dreamed about, though several people from different parts of my life made an appearance. But whatever it was got me to thinking about how different my life is today from the path I thought I was on last year. New apartment, roommate, new friends, a constantly changing job situation, and just a dramatically different everything from last year - when I have such vivid memories of sitting in my studio, studying for my exams and fretting about the 100 books I had to read.

I guess I just pictured myself in a very different situation when I thought about life after grad school. Not that where I am now isn't usually fine (except on days when I've gotten job rejections, injured my knee, and fret about paying bills) but that would all happen no matter where I lived or worked.

Anyway, I'm hoping I can remember the rest of the dream. Maybe that holds the key to why I spent half an hour over my breakfast this morning pondering life. I knew I should have written it down, but when I woke up at 3 am that just didn't seem like the best use of valuable sleeping time.

Yay hot showers!

Crisis averted - the hot water heater was installed today, and seems to be working just fine. But shout out to Steph (not my sister) for her offers of a place to crash with hot water, and her gym id if I wanted to shower downtown. We have the same birthdate, so it could have worked.

Off to the showers.

Brrrr!

So the hot water heater in my apartment building died yesterday. Apparently in a big, messy way, but I just took my landlord's word for it, and didn't go out in the rain to investigate.

But after it died, he came around to each unit (unfortunately while I was out, so this is all second hand information from my roommate) to tell tenants that we could be without hot water until Tuesday or Wednesday.

Wednesday? Um, no. Which is pretty much what my roommate told him. Loudly. Making the point that she has to teach crazy early in the morning, and the expectation that she'd take more than one cold shower is unacceptable. Not to mention illegal - I'm pretty certain there's some reasonable accommodation law that requires landlords to provide hot water quickly in the event of a boiler meltdown. But legalities aside, if he calls a professional instead of doing a shoddy job himself, we should have hot water pretty quickly.

And it's not just that now we're taking cold showers, but that the absence of the hot water heater makes the cold water freezing. So much so that I took leftover water from my tea kettle this morning to wash my face and brush my teeth. I'm surprised icecicles didn't come out of the tap.

I'm happy to spend the day at work, with running hot and cold water. But I'll be thrilled if I can go home tonight and take a warm shower.

Invasion of the Mets fan

About three weeks ago this new temp started working here. He's an all around nice guy; or so I thought, until today. It's raining today, so he wore a rain jacket to work. A blue one, with that hateful orange emblem spat upon by Yankees fans worldwide. That's right, he's a Mets fan. Born and raised in New Jersey, even. It's a small office, and I don't think there's enough room here for both of us. He'll have to go.

Baseball season is almost upon us

Pitchers and catchers report soon, and I'm so excited because I can order tickets - using my Christmas gift certificate - to see NY take on Oakland at the A's opening day. I've never been to opening day before, and I think it'll be fun! If, that is, I can get to the stadium and into my seat without any incidents. Last year wasn't too bad, I was only heckled by some idiots who thought girls would only go to a baseball game to cruise guys. I was very angry, but as I was wearing both my Jeter t-shirt and my favorite Yankees baseball cap, I decided not to respond. This was the game where some folks caused a small riot and dumped beer on Jason Giambi (though they have every right to be angry and I still think New York's money could have been spent better - Tino Martinez, anyone?)but I just didn't want trouble.

So back to the tickets. I don't want to go to the box office and stand in line tomorrow because my knee hurts, though some day that would be a lot of fun. But I can mail in my gift certificate, with a very detailed letter, and I'll get my tickets in the mail. Yay! I love spring.

The worst newspaper headline ever

Bad Chronicle! I'm appalled by this headline from today's Web edition:

Suspicious death of wheelchair-using man

I'll spare you the full article, but the gist is that a 50-year old recluse from Foster City was found dead last night under possibly suspicious circumstances. Now, why not use "Cops investigating suspicious death of recluse" or something. The fact that he's in a wheelchair doesn't seem really relevant. And it's also in the lead, so why not make the headline sound less like it was written by a fifth-grader. But then, an editor once told me I was too smart to be a reporter.

Back to the Bank

So on Monday night, Steph, Brian, and I enjoyed a few hours at the Irish Bank, a great pub in the Financial District - you can read all about our adventure below. Last night, in honor of a co-worker's birthday, we went out for free cosmos (thanks to our friend Jen and her promoter friend). We spent an enjoyable few hours at Cafe de la Press with silly pink drinks and very small plates of food.

Upon finishing up there - they would only serve two free drinks each and they were expensive - we headed to the Irish Bank. It was packed, and we ended up next to a group of guys who work for IBM. One of them bought some of us drinks because I successfully juggled salt and pepper shakers. He was pretty wowed. It made a mess, actually; salt and pepper all over the place, even in my socks. But we had tons of fun. And then it was midnight, and time to go home. But I think I need to return there soon. Anybody want to come?

I'm pretty sure I was singing on the streetcar

In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm a repeat offender. It's just that I kind of get carried away, and with my earphones in, I tend to forget that I'm in public. I used to sing along with the radio every morning on my way to work when I was commuting by car, and I miss it a little. And it's generally singable music - I'm not trying to thrash out lyrics to the Pogues during my morning commute. But maybe I should. Perhaps that would assure me a double seat all to myself.

Shameless promotion

So my sister's looking for sad, heart-wrenching, cry-you-eyes-out songs for a CD she's making. Share your thoughts with her on her blog - 65 Maple Ave - the link is to the left.

My MUNI love-hate relationship

I don't want to rant entirely, so I will begin this with a good story. On my way to Mass on Sunday, the L streetcar stopped at 19th Ave. The 28 bus was also stopped, and from my seat on the streetcar I could see passengers waiting to get on. From the other side of the street came a guy in board shorts and a jacket, with long blonde hair. He ran across the street in an attempt to get to the bus before it departed (MUNI drivers being notorious for closing the doors and pulling away in the wake of angry riders who've run blocks to catch the bus). This guy was unusual, though, for he was carrying his surf board. Now, I wasn't right next to him, but close enough to see that it was probably a 6-foot board. And he carried it onto the bus, didn't get thrown off, laid it across the first seats while he paid his fare (or did he have to pay two, since the board would certainly take up a seat?). Once finished, he picked up the board, and moved to the back of the bus. Only in San Francisco.

While that was a beautiful scene, the past two days have more resembled horror movies than surf flicks. Last night, I arrived at my underground stop around 8:30. There were underground delays, and after waiting for 10 minutes I decided I'd be better off above ground, on a bus. I waited for 25 minutes. No bus. I then proceeded back underground, by which time the streetcars were running again. I got a seat (yay!) and put in my headphones. Everything went ok until we hit about 20th Ave. Then we waited. Then we rolled a block or two and waited again. This went on for about 20 minutes, until we approached a broken down car. I'm pretty sure we pushed that car a few blocks, until it reached a turnaround point, before picking up its passengers and going on our way. Total commute time: 2 hours. Distance from point A to home: six miles.

And this morning, additional delays made my 45-minute commute an hour and a half. If I hadn't hurt my knee last week, this would be the point at which I start biking to work. Or walking, as that, too would be faster than taking public transit.

What's the easiest way to get panhandled in San Francisco?

Eat outside, as Steph (not my sister, but the one who shares my birthday), Brian and I discovered last night. However, panhandling aside, we had a blast. The Irish Bank is super fun, the waiter was adorable, and it stayed warm enough last night that we could remain in the alleyway patio for the duration of the evening (ok, it ended around 8:30, but still, you can't do that in New York in January).

Bad Blogger, bad

So I wrote this whole great post about how I saw Walk the Line this weekend, and it was the best movie ever. But then blogger crashed and I lost it. Sigh. It was a great movie, and included one of the best movie lines ever: "Rule number 1, never propose to a woman on a bus."

Really, that's just wisdom to live by. On another, unrelated note, when I spell checked a previous post, the word singledom wasn't recognized. Singleton, however, was the top choice to replace it. Has Bridget Jones taken over the world? Or maybe just the Blogger spell check.

And why isn't Blogger an accepted word in the Blogger spell check???

Where have all the good men gone??

Maybe I'm just cynical these days, but the following story really pisses me off; it also makes me ponder what I'm sure will be a lifetime of singledom, and old age spent with a few dogs, but no husband and children.

My good friend recently broke up with her boyfriend. They're both over 40 and had been together for almost two years. She ended it after not hearing from him for two weeks. While they were together they talked on the phone several times a day. HE CALLED HER several times a day! After his self-enforced silence, he sent her an email saying that while she was a great girl (and I can attest to that - she's awesome) he had demons to slay and personal issues to work out and couldn't be in a relationship.

Ponder these things:
1. After almost two years he decided he couldn't be in a relationship.
2. He broke this to her over email.
3. She suffered with two weeks of not-returned phone calls before his got his act together to write to her.

Now, first, he's not 12 years old and breaking up with a girl on the playground, but aside from his obvious emotional shortcomings, this is just a lousy thing to do. I've heard stories of girls being dumped via text message, guys just disappearing instead of being honest about not wanting to date anymore, girls no longer returning phone calls and having roommates run interference, and even some guy faking his death - but that may have been an exaggeration of the situation. I was in a relationship that ended after he told me he thought he wanted to marry me, and then stopped speaking to me for three weeks. What do they think???

I'm left pondering if San Francisco is unusual in its male-female situation (or lack thereof) or is this a nationwide phenomenon? The bizarre counter to this is that I've met so many nice guys recently - guys from St. Dominic's, guys I work with, guys in my building, straight guys and gay guys who are just nice, good men. And my dad and brother are good men. And I'm sure I know some others out there (and my apologies for not listing you each individually). So the question becomes: do these nice guys morph into dating monsters when you want more than a friendship, or are women everywhere destined to meet two categories of men - the friends and the potential boyfriends, and if that's the case, why can't the good guys fit into both categories? Why does this have to be so complicated??

Can anybody out there shed some light on any of this?

The best media interview I've ever seen

In a moment of boredom last night, I turned on the TV, and cruised through the channels until stumbling upon The Daily Show. Jon's guest was James Woosley, a former CIA director and undoubtedly the most hysterical bureaucrat I've ever seen. He was fantastic - funny, self-depreciating, and willing to trash pretty much every international power engaging in terrorism today. He even compared the Islamic terrorist state to Nazis, terming them Islamo-Nazis, and arguing that any comparison to Fascists and Mussolini was really an insult to the Italians - the Fascists, afterall, did not subscribe to racism and genocide as a party platform. And they were relatively supportive of freedom of religion. He was brilliant! And he agreed to take blame for every international incident that's taken place in the 11 years since he left the CIA. I wish there were more civil servants in the world like him.

P, Q, R, X, Argh!!

I've been alphabetizing and filing for two days. I hate the alphabet! I hate the tall filing cabinets! I hate papercuts! Where's my cush desk job, with the good salary, the fun work, and the absence of file towers??

Shout out to Lucinda

Because she says I don't write about her. Really, that should be a good thing, as it highlights the fact that she's not a member of the lunatic asylum where we work. And she always comes in sober.

Hoist a glass in farewell

So the guy who often comes in drunk and leaves early for happy hour will make his final departure this evening. After numerous incarnations here he is leaving - for the last time - and a new job, as part of the downsizing of the firm before its closing. It's sort of sad; but apparently not too heartwrenching for the rest of the staff, as nobody offered to take him to lunch on his last day.

It seems, however, that he's passing on his oft-drunken employee status. Another person has started coming in drunk on the occasional Thursday, Friday, or Tuesday morning, and has been seen sneaking out early to meet the drinking buddy. It's good to know the tradition won't die today.

Deep thoughts

In February, I celebrate five years in San Francisco. Maybe I should have a party. Invite everyone I know, open up my apartment, and revel in the fact that I've survived five years is the craziness that is often San Francisco.

Lately, this impending anniversary, accompanied by a good stretch of quality time with myself, and the chaos of my job search, has gotten me to thinking.

This week, it's easy to look at my life and be a little discouraged. I'm working a dead-end job, I have no money, and I'm feeling a little lost. So much has changed in the past few months, and I don't quite think I've processed it all. I've gone through two sets of friends in my time here, and most of them have moved away, leaving the city for brighter job or educational opportunities elsewhere. Recreating a social circle is difficult, often tiresome, and something I should probably be working harder at than I have been.

But the point of this is not to feel sorry for myself (or to depress my five or six loyal readers - thanks, by the way). It's just to reflect for a little while. In the course of my time here, I've had a career change, finished grad school (including one semester in which I read 100 books), and started and ended a significant relationship (as both the initiator and the breaker-upper, which is pretty powerful now that I'm not so pissed off any more). I've determined that I really do want to live in San Francisco, I've figured out what I really want to do with my life, and I'm making small strides to accomplish it. And I've finally gotten my apartment on the ocean. I guess I've been pretty busy. I wonder what's next.

Please, no lecture

I got scolded this morning for not updating in a timely manner, but the truth is I haven't much to say. I had a fabulous weekend, though even at three days it was entirely too short. Isn't there somebody else we could honor in January? I need another day off.

I got to work this morning and one of my office mates - the one who's always in by 8 am, greeted me with a huge smile and the comment that she was really happy to see me. How nice. I'll really miss her when this office closes.

On a completely random other note, why won't Blogger let me change the text color. What if I wanted to post today in yellow, or green, or red? Why can't I? Bad Blogger.

Of parrots and percussionists

My blah Thursday took on an inspiring twist as I encountered, for the first time in my almost five years here, the parrots of Telegraph Hill. In my down time this summer I ventured up the Hill hoping to see them in all their splendor. But they weren't home. Further trips have been complicated by rain, fog, and the realization that perhaps the best time to see them is at dawn. Not the most convenient time to travel across town. For anyone not familiar with them, they are a flock of wild (but probably once domestic) parrots living in the trees atop Telegraph Hill, known for their bold colors and their chattiness. They've even starred in their own documentary, and are occasionally news items when someone threatens to cut down the trees in which they perch. Apparently they split their time between Telegraph Hill and the Embarcadero, which is where I discovered them last night, in a park near Embarcadero Center. I heard them before I saw them, chattering loudly at sunset and flying above this small grove of trees in a small park. Unfortunately, it was too dark to see them in all their colorful glory, but I got a good enough sense of what they look like, and now that I know where they are, I can easily return.

On a completely different topic, my journeys about the city by bus have provided many adventures and lots of food for thought, but none so poignant as my trip along Sacramento on the #1 bus. Stopped to pick up passengers at Polk Street, I glanced out the window to see a city recycling worker removing recyclables from a curbside trash can. In the course of this, our intrepid recycler realized that the metal trash can top made an interesting thunking noise when banged with his hand. In fact, depending upon where he struck it, the can produced several tones. After a little experimenting, he proceeded to play the trash can while dancing to his music. The bus pulled away to the metallic clunk of the trash can percussionist.

Sigh

The job search continues in a rather discouraging mode this week. After two rejections - one from a place I really wanted to work and in a job I'd have excelled at - I'm back to the drawing board. I had an interview yesterday, but the job was all wrong for me and the organization not someplace I want to work. I also followed up with a place I'm really interested in, and for a position that's been open since before Christmas. Maybe they'll give my resume a second look, and I could be building trails and supervising volunteers at this place before St. Patrick's Day.

The bright side is that I continue to be employed. We're packing up the office this month, and I should get back to it. If you don't hear from me for awhile, it's because I've been snugly taped into a box.

A moment of silence, please

In tribute to Pigpen, the best little car ever.

We parted ways yesterday, and while I know he'll be very comfortable and put to good use, it's still a little sad.

Bad interviewers, bad!!

I've gotten two job rejections by email since Friday. If I'm ever in the position of interviewing or hiring somebody, I will NEVER, NEVER, NEVER reject them in an email. It's cruel and it MAKES ME MAD!!

Interviews a deux!

My job search began in March, and escalated to a frenzied pitch over the summer. In those months, I had one interview, for a position with an organization that ultimately jerked me around before offering me a part-time job not in my field.

Well, the agony seems to be paying off. I had a preliminary interview before Christmas (with the expectation of a follow up in the next few weeks), I have an in-person interview tomorrow morning, and it looks like I'll have another prelim. interview tomorrow afternoon. I am so excited.

And so the moral, for my sister and anyone else who's unsuccessfully job searching, is that good things will eventually happen. I gave myself a year from the day I graduated, and I'm well short of that reevaluation point. And the odds of getting a job are good. I just hope the job I want, the one that would have me working in an office and on some hiking trails, comes through. Maybe I'll have some leverage to contact them and get their interview process moving. Yay!

Sunshine at last!

The sun came out yesterday, a winter miracle that never ceases to amaze me. Really, winter is one of the things I love most about San Francisco. The flowers stay in bloom, the grass stays green, and when it's not raining it's nice enough to go out and play on the beach, or in the park, or wherever.

This weekend, I think I'm going for a hike in The Presidio. I finally bought an actual trail map, with the hope that I'll stop getting lost. The thing is, without the map, every hike was an adventure, and every wrong turn brought something interesting. Until the day I ventured onto the golf course. That could have been dangerous.

Stormy Weather

The rain this week has been unbelievable. Huge storms, a little hail, gigantic waves, and pretty serious flooding rounded out 2005 and drifted into 2006. It's hard knowing that the sun won't come out until the middle of the week, and I'll have to be inside, at a boring job in a workspace without windows.

So, to pass the time and give me hope for a partially sunny weekend, here are some pretty San Francisco photos. Enjoy!

Not pathetic!

My threatening-to-be-pathetic New Year's weekend was rescued by a trip to my newest favorite bar, The Riptide, with a friend who lives, conveniently, just a block away, from both me and the bar, It was an all around enjoyable evening, the highlight of which was free pizza, $1 hotdogs, and a small glass of free champagne at midnight.

There's really nothing better to a big night out than knowing you can walk the three blocks home whenever you're ready.

I took advantage of yesterday's lull between storms to meet a friend for brunch and walk around Golden Gate Park a little. Then the rain started and I ran for cover in the nearest bus shelter. I seem to have lost all my umbrellas in recent weeks. It may be time to replace them.

So this weekend redeemed itself. But it's still storming, and the TV guys are now stomping around on the roof (which was very disconcerting at 9 am). I hope they can fix the satellite. I'd like to be able to watch a whole hour of TV without the program cutting in and out several times.

And on an unrelated note, shout out to Traci! I'm so glad your fingers are still in good working order.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!